


The Hurts We Deal Are Mostly To Ourselves

by awitchbravestheverge



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Gore, Gen, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:21:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26251837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awitchbravestheverge/pseuds/awitchbravestheverge
Summary: In the wake of the wedding, Thomas is struggling with nightmares and fatigue. A call to his sides for help reveals he may have a more pressing problem to solve.Platonic DRLAMPT
Comments: 75
Kudos: 91





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> there's some disturbing nightmare imagery ahead folks, take care.

April 14th dawns warm and clear. The sun creeps through the blinds and streaks over Thomas where he'd buried himself under a pile of blankets the night before. Birds flit back and forth across the window, chirping a lively volly of conversation. There is a prismatic smear of light on the opposite wall from the neighbor's wind chimes.

Thomas notices none of it.

There wasn't anything pressing to do for the first time in weeks, and so he hadn't set any alarms. Wiped out as he'd been the night before, he'd banked on needing the sleep. And besides, it was unusual for him to crash for more than twelve hours so...he'd probably be up before eleven any way.

Or at least, that had been the assumption. But his sleep was shallow all night, filled with tossing and starts, and waking up in a panic from half remembered nightmares. He'd finally dropped into deep sleep at around four a.m. only to blink blearily awake again at just after seven, with the feeling of forgetting something important buzzing under his skin.

He's exhausted. The light and birdsong are barely registering as anything other than a background assault on his senses. He's too warm, but the idea of moving out from under the covers is almost nauseating. His conscious mind is a jumble of half formed thoughts, but underneath there's just one repeating. _What's the point?_

He thinks he should probably get up. _Why?_ If he's not going to get anymore sleep then he should do something productive. _Like what?_ Or eat. _God no._ He can't just lay in bed all day. _Why the hell not?_ Even though it's a day off, he should do something other than lie there.

He thinks about his phone, five feet away on the charger. He thinks about getting on twitter, or calling Joan. Or checking his stats. Or making an Instagram post. Every thought drops like lead into his bones. _No._ His eyes shut and he drags them open, again and again. The light changes with every slow blink. He doesn't move, he barely breathes.

Sometime around noon he gets up to pee, then crawls straight back into bed. He doesn't eat. _Oh god no food. Please_. Or drink, or take anything for the headache building a nest behind his eyes. Oh well, there's always tomorrow to be productive. _Sure._

He slips back into sleep before the sun goes down.

☆☆☆

The shadows are long in the dim light. There's an intermittent scratching coming from somewhere, pulling his attention from the television. He's been trying to ignore it but it's becoming harder to do. It sounds like a mouse in the walls. There is a franticness to it that is setting all of his nerves off.

"What even is that?" He mutters under his breath. Sitting up on the couch he glares down the hallway towards the door. It might be coming from upstairs, or from outside. He really doesn't want to get up off the couch, but at this rate he'll go crazy if he doesn't find out what's causing the scratching. Ignoring the little voice that says it's a bad idea he reaches out with his mind.

"Patton?" His voice echoes a little in the darkening living room. There's no response. "Patton?", he tries again.

A small pit of guilt settles in his stomach. Patton's probably still busy dealing with the chaos he caused after the callback. It's not surprising he didn't come. The guilt grows with his next impulse, but he has to know if the noise is in his mind or in the real world.

"Logan?" Still nothing. Now there's a creeping sense of unease. He squashes the voice that says " _They're avoiding you. Why would they want to talk to you after that show you put on?"_ It's ridiculous, everyone's strung out in here, including him. The sides are all probably wrapped up in something.

No choice then. He'll have to investigate himself. He reaches for the remote to turn off the tv, then frowns. It's already off but he doesn't remember turning it off and that ramps his anxiety up to 100 fast. He stands, suddenly queasy. The scratching noise is ramping up at the same time as his heart rate. He suddenly, desperately needs someone else with him

"Roman? Virgil?...anyone?" His voice is very small now, as he creeps towards the stairs. The sound is coming from upstairs, it's so clear now he can't figure out why he wasn't sure before. The view from the bottom of the staircase has his heart pounding. It seems so much longer than usual, and the light is almost gone now, and the shadows are crowding him as he starts up. 

The scratching gets louder, more frantic, and is joined by a metallic screech as he reaches the top. Barely able to catch his breath he sprints for the door to his room. That's where the sound is he knows with sudden certainty. He pushes the door open and practically falls through.

Instead of his room there's another hallway. This one is dark, and dank, filled with metal pipes and steam. It's cold, and it smells like an alleyway. The smell of copper and urine nearly chokes him. But he can't stop. He has to get to the source of the noises. If he doesn't…

He runs full tilt down the hallway. It twists and turns. It branches, but he barely hesitates. The sound is everywhere. But it's like a beacon all the same. His footsteps echoing and the hiss of steam are the only other things he can hear. He's panting now as he takes a corner, the noises are so loud they're almost deafening. He runs straight into someone's back.

Tripping backwards a step, he shouts. But the sound dies almost before it can make it out of his mouth. He knows that figure. The straight shoulders in the black polo, the crisp pants, the hair is so much neater than his own. Relief washes over him.

"Logan?" The side doesn't answer. His arms are moving, doing something repetitive in front of him. That's where the desperate scrambling and metallic screeches are coming from. "Logan, thank God." He puts a hand on Logan's shoulder to turn him. "What are you even doing up here? What's--" He gasps involuntary as Logan turns.

There's something over his face. A half mask of rusted metal and rivets. Solid and bloody. It covers his mouth and nose. The source of those noises become suddenly, horrifyingly clear. Logan claws at the mask, the _muzzle?_ His chest is shuddering and his fingers are bleeding and torn. His eyes are wide and glassy above the metal edge that is _bolted to his face! Oh God!_

He finds himself backing up as Logan stumbles towards him. He wants to help but he can't think what to do.

"Oh God, oh god ohgod…" He reaches helplessly towards Logan as the world seems to spin around him.

With no warning, Logan jerks to a halt, hands falling from his face. There's a dark figure looming behind Logan and a blade dripping with more blood, protruding sickeningly from his chest. The figure is still and silent, but a manic cackle starts up in the air all around them.

"Well!", a voice buzzing with false sympathy echoes. "At least someone finally put him out of his misery!" As if prompted, Logan slips forward off the blade and falls.

"No!" Thomas screams. 

☆☆☆

He jerks awake, choking on that scream. The clock shrieks 3:27 a.m. at him with horrifying bright green light. It chases him up, out of the bed and down the hall, to the bathroom. There, Thomas studies his face under the harsh fluorescent lighting. There are tear tracks drying on his skin and the circles under his eyes look almost exactly like Virgil's eyeshadow.

He smirks at himself with very little mirth. There are worse ways to look. 

A sudden overlay of dream Logan's face sends him retching over the toilet. He heaves for what feels like forever, more tears spilling, but there's nothing in his stomach to bring up. Finally he collapses beside the tub, exhausted. He wants very badly to just go back to bed, but the shaking in his hands tells him it's useless. He thinks about calling Logan to help him through some breathing exercises. It sends a little shudder of cold fear through him. It might be completely unfounded, but he's not sure what he'd do right now if he called and Logan failed to show.

He pulls himself up and shuffles slowly downstairs, turning on every light in the house as he goes. He gets a glass of water, contemplates the contents of his fridge, and decides eating is not worth possibly puking. He makes his way to the couch, pulls a throw around himself and looks around. 

He can see his reflection in the tv, the copy of Moana sitting beside it, the half broken blinds he's been meaning to fix. He can see a sock stuck halfway under the tv table and a tiny bit of tinsel from Christmas still threaded around the stair railing. He closes his eyes and feels the chill on his skin, the rough stitching and the soft cotton on the throw. He takes a breath just to feel the air in his lungs. There's a faint sound of air moving in the vents, just under his own breath, both too loud in the silence. He can just make out a dog barking down the street. The living room smells like the pizza from three days ago, and the lemon verbena candle Valerie had given him for his last birthday. His mouth tastes like something died on his tongue. 

He opens his eyes, a little more settled but still wired. The house feels too big and empty, and he still feels on the edge of crying. He reaches for the remote. He'll watch a few hours of awful early morning cable, and then he'll call Joan.

☆☆☆

He does. And he spills the whole dream in what feels like one breath. He leaves out nothing, even the grossest bits. Even though Thomas knows Joan, knows how hard they are to rattle, it's still a relief when they don't judge him for it.

"So what's the diagnosis Doc? Am I completely crazy?" He put more humor into his voice than he feels.

"Hardly. Shit Thomas, that sounds rough. And you said you couldn't sleep the night before?" Joan sounds simultaneously impressed and concerned.

"Yeah. Mostly. I made up for it by sleeping all day though."

"You know that's not how that works. You're ok now?" There's that little bit of Joan that dovetails so well with Logan. Thomas shudders at the brief flash of Joan in nightmare Logan's place.

"Yeah. Absolutely. Just a little stressed."

"You need anything?"

"Nah. I'm gonna binge some Parks and Rec today, try to go do bed early. I'll be on top of my game again tomorrow, don't worry." He stresses that last part a bit.

"Thomas…"

There's a hesitancy in Joan's voice and it puts him on edge "What?"

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" 

This knowing softness was exactly what he didn't want. He sighs and slumps back into the couch. "What do you mean?" Maybe if he plays dumb…

"It's just, you seem more than just a little stressed. Maybe you should take a break."

"Im fine." His voice is too brittle.

"Are you? You've been kinda on edge for a while now." Joan sounds like they're bracing for a fight. It makes nausea rise up again in Thomas's throat.

"What are you talking about?"

"That. You've been snappy, and a little zoney. You yelled at Terrence the other day for sneezing during a take."

He closes his eyes, squeezes the bridge of his nose."I know. I'm sorry. I'll try to be less of an asshole, I promise."

"That's really not the point I was getting at." 

The annoyance edging into Joan's voice absurdly helps. It makes him feel less sorry for himself. "Well then, what?"

"You know, you can take some time off if you need it. You should, if you want."

"I can't. There's too much to do for the channel. And there's vidcon coming up..." He can't stand the whine in his voice. Why the heck is he even arguing so hard against a vacation of all things.

In return Joan uses their most professional grown up voice. "You can take a week or two. It's not a big deal. The team and I can totally handle it." 

"But what about content? We need to post something soon."

Thomas, my man, we have content. There's two info vids and a shorts compilation sitting on the burner that just need editing. We can finish and post those." Cajoling, and a hint of offended pride. It makes him smile

"That's a lot of work. I don't want you to have to do all of it without me."

"Don't be dumb. We're fine, we can handle it."

"Are you sure?" As last ditch attempts go, it's pretty weak, unconvincing. He really does need some time.

Joan breaks out the pan-atlantic newscaster voice in anticipated victory "Absotively. Take a week, more if you need it. Relax. Don't call me unless you want company relaxing. In fact, I'm making an executive decision. You're banned from anything work related until further notice." 

"Ugh, you're an awful tyrant." He laughs in spite of himself. "I love you though."

"I love you too, you dingbat. Seriously though, if you need anything that's not work call me." Joan's voice is once more full of soft concern. It's warming now instead of grating.

"I will." He promises.

"Now go get some rest. Don't make me send Talyn over to sit on you."

That earns a full fledged chuckle. "Oh God, no thank you. I'm good. Give Talyn my love."

"Will do. Bye Tommy boy.

"Bye Joan. See you later." After he hangs up, the smile sits on Thomas's face for a good long while. He's not going to deny the rush of relief at having no responsibilities to pile on top of his overwhelming exhaustion.

He drifts through the rest of the day. The binge watching lasts all of three episodes. He can't concentrate on anything. Ideas for how to spend his time slip away like water. His head has never felt so empty. It's like all his drive has left him and the idea of trying to do anything makes him want to cry.

He does manage cereal at lunch, and a pb&j around eight that night. Which is better than yesterday at least. He also drinks another two glasses of water, takes a shower, and pops some advil. He can be enough of an adult not to completely fall apart.

All day long he thinks about summoning up the sides. He wants their take on this sudden malaise he's feeling. But he just dumped so much on them, especially Roman and Patton. They should get a while to process the callback thing before he floods them with more problems. If there's a small part of him that worries it's been too much, that they won't respond if he calls, he doesn't have to admit it even to himself. He makes it to ten p.m. and then pours himself back into bed. Who knew doing nothing all day could make you so tired.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is mostly nightmare, a little gruesome. Take care.

He's back in the twisting industrial maze of hallways. Running. Even though every path looks the same. Even though his lungs burn. He has to find someone to help… to help Logan. Because he can be helped. He's not dead. He can't be.

There are patches of dark sky overhead. It's a sky choked with brown clouds, but it's open air. It washes away the stink of blood and piss and mold a bit. It smells like car oil but he can breathe a bit better. It gives way to all open ceilings eventually, after what feels like hours. He hasn't seen another living soul.

It takes him a while to hear the crying echoing through the tunnels. It reminds him of a video game he played once, that he never played again because the sound of the ghoulish weeping that accompanied the child demons gave him chills. But this crying isn't quite like that.

This crying is hoarse guttural sobbing. The kind of crying you do when you can't do anything else. The kind where tears are secondary to the raw noises that wrench their way from your chest. He instinctively turns to follow it as best he can.

When he finds the source, he wishes he hadn't. 

Its Deceit- Janus, slumped against a dead end, and a hunched form in the corner it takes him a moment to recognize as Virgil. Janus's mouth is- he heaves _oh god ohfuck -sewn_ shut! The stitches are haphazard and he's clearly pulled at them, blood streaks his chin and the gloved hands resting limply in his lap. He'd look dead if his chest wasn't moving slowly. 

Virgil is the source of the crying. He's crouched in the farthest dark corner, hood up, hands pressed to his face doing nothing to muffle the horrible sobbing. There's a slick darkness staining the front of that much loved hoodie. 

"Virgil?" He asks, voice terribly small. 

Deceit's head snaps up to fix him with a glare. He raises one finger to his torn lips in a grotesque shushing motion. 

But he can't stay quiet, his heart is screaming at him to do something, anything, to fix this awful scene. "Virge? What ha… are you...oh Virgil."

Virgil drops his hands from his face. He doesn't stop crying but he tilts his head as if he's listening to a far off noise. Slowly, his head swivels towards the opening of the alleyway. A cold terror hits Thomas full in the chest. There is blood pouring from Virgil's mangled mouth, tongue gone, teeth jagged. And he _has no eyes!_

The scream that tears it's way from Thomas doesn't even sound human and he scrambles backwards. He trips, falls, surges back to his feet and runs. Careens away from the horror movie tableau behind him. His eyes blur, his own breath chokes him. "No no no. No, please god no…"

He's panicking. He can't breathe, and he's stumbling into the walls, and he has no thoughts except to get away. Away from what he's just seen. As if it makes a difference. As if it's not burned into his brain forever. He's moving so blindly that he runs into someone without even seeing them.

He shrieks, tries to fight them off. Strong arms band around his back, pull him against someone's chest. It takes the smell of baked goods and lemon for him to realize he's not in a fight for his life. To hear the soothing voice crooning in his ear.

"Hey, Thomas. It's ok kiddo, I've got you. Hush now. It's alright."

"P-patton?"

The arms squeeze a little tighter. "Yeah buddy, it's me."

"Patton it's- I saw- oh God, Virgil, he- they" He couldn't get the words out around his own sobs.

Patton strokes a hand through his hair. "I know sweetheart, I saw." His voice is soft and broken. "I was trying to find help, but I'm… I'm really lost in here. Sorry kiddo."

They stand still for a while, as Thomas brings his gasping down to normal breathing. When he feels he could speak again he pulls himself out of Patton's arms. The small, sad smile the side gives him has him glancing away. Guilt wells up inside him.

"I just left them there, Pat. I didn't even try to help."

"Hey, no, none of that. You couldn't have done anything. We have to find someone who can."

"What happened?" None of this makes any sense. The wrongness of everything is making him sick and dizzy. 

"Now that I'm afraid I don't know, buddy. I was hoping someone could tell me." Patton sighs and glances back the way he'd been running. "I could hear music sometimes as I was going along, and voices. There's people here somewhere, I just can't find them. And there's that." He points behind him.

In the distance of the sickly sky, beyond the increasingly broken walls, there is a light against the clouds. It pulses different colors, slowly and rhythmically. It's almost like the light above an amphitheater seen from miles away. It really is the only thing that looks like a destination.

"How are we even supposed to get there?" He's exhausted from running, and the dirtybad _wrong_ feeling under his ribs is telling him that crossing that distance is useless.

Patton turns that sad smile his way again. "We have to try. What else can we do?" He takes Thomas's hand and squeezes gently. Without discussing it, they begin to walk in the direction of the light.

As they walk, Thomas takes in more of his surroundings than he had before. There are fewer pipes now, less steam and more puddles. The walls are broken down entirely in some places. Outside is an empty desert, and the occasional ruin of a building. The alleyway smell had given entirely over to motor oil and plant decay. It's damp, and freezing. And it's almost silent. He strains his ears and hears nothing but their shuffling footsteps and the wind over the exposed cinder blocks.

It's like something out of the worst kind of apocalyptic dystopian movie.

Sooner than Thomas expects, the sounds Patton mentioned begin to appear. Music, like from a distant record player. And the babble of voices that suggest a crowd. He and Patton are moving with purpose now, not discussing the turns. There's a heavy inevitability to the rising volume. It almost feels like no matter which way they go, the end destination will be the same.

The walls open up as they take the next left. Now they're seemingly surrounded by an old city in the wake of a bomb. But there are figures crowding the streets. They look to be made of shadows, and they're wearing gaudy masquerade clothing. He and Patton make attempts to get their attention but are thoroughly ignored. 

None of the figures have mouths or even faces but indistinct chatter fills the air around them. They weave in and out of piecemeal boothes with scrap cloth awnings, haggling with equally shadowy vendors for invisible wares. They part easily for him and Patton as they walk, and close ranks behind them, but otherwise give no indication they even notice the two. Patton's hand is clammy in his. His grip is getting tighter by the minute.

The music ramps up in volume as they walk, an odd grinding calliope tune. The crowd thins without warning and they find themselves in a square clearing between the buildings. A town square? The lights they'd seen before pulse high above a circular wooden platform in the center. They cycle through colors to the slow pace of the music. A bright spotlight shines down onto the platform. More figures in finery spin circles around it.

"Thomas look, they're dancing…" Patton's voice sounds oddly far away. But he can't focus on that, because one figure stands out from the rest on the platform. He actually has a face. He has a very familiar costume, a sweeping stumbling step, and a manic grin under wild eyes. Thomas presses his way to the edge of the stage.

Remus bows deeply. "Thomas! I'm delighted you came to my performance!" The high voice comes from everywhere and nowhere. The grin stays fixed on Remus's face like a rictus, his expression frozen at the height of twisted glee.

"Remus." Thomas gritts out. "I really should have known this was you."

That earns him an echoing cackle, and the tilt of that still face. "Oh no, not me, my charmingly deranged creator. No no, this place is of my brother's design. I merely provided the, shall we say, kiss of life." It's extremely unsettling to hear his voice as his mouth continues to be motionless.

He spins on the platform, lifts his arms like a ringleader and his voice rings loud. "Gentle-beings of the psyche, may I proudly present for his debut performance in this broken wasteland; Our incomparably and twistedly talented host, Thomas Sanders!" He whirls back and grabs at Thomas's hands, and pulls him onto the platform. 

Thomas stumbles into the spotlight, and suddenly, he and Remus are alone on the platform. He can hear Patton scramble up behind him. Remus is staring directly at him. "What?"

Remus's high pitched giggle rips through the air. "You're supposed to start your performance."

"What performance? What exactly am I supposed to do?!"

Remus shrugs. "No idea! I thought you were supposed to know. You are, after all, running this lovely shit show." He laughs again and begins to sway to the music. It's slow groaning circus tune is out of place without the sound of the crowd. The shadow creatures have all vanished.

Thomas looks around at the empty square. "You said Roman did this. Where is he?"

Remus is now spinning in dizzying circles. "What a question for a party! I don't know. You should know. Why don't you do something useful instead of standing there like a gutted fish asking stupid questions? Morality!" His gaze focuses next to Thomas. " This _is_ an honor. You should dance with me!"

Before Thomas can think to object, he's pulled Patton into his arms and they're waltzing around the stage. A clacking, discordant percussion beat starts under the music. "Let him go." Thomas snaps, suddenly furious.

"I don't think he wants me to. Do you my dearest bleeding heart?"

"Patton?" He asks, aware for the first time that Patton has said nothing since he saw the dancers.

Patton says nothing, doesn't even glance at him. His eyes are far away and misty, his smile the same tiny broken thing he'd offered earlier. It's the exact same smile. As if it were painted on. His face is just as motionless as Remus's. Because it is painted on, and so is Remus's for that matter.

It's so clear he can't understand why he hadn't noticed before. Both of their movements are so jerky, both of their faces have the subtle sheen of wood. The only thing living on them is their eyes, and those are terrified and hopeless. The clicking isn't percussion. What he's hearing are the wooden joints of puppets. Patton, who walked with him; Remus, who carried a whole conversation; they've both been living puppets the whole time. 

As soon as the realization hits him the music stops and the lights go out. Remus and Patton freeze, swaying and dangling half an inch off the floor. There's a hiss of metal on metal behind him. He turns and the dark figure that stabbed Logan is standing almost motionless, a handful of steps away. It's mirroring his posture and breathing. It's swathed in grey and black rags. There's a mask over the face with nothing but holes for the eyes, solid black, with the faintest shimmer. There are too many shadows to really make out anything else.

"Who are you?" He asks, even though he's almost certain he knows. The thing brandishes it's sword, _Roman's_ sword. It advances slowly, cautiously. Thomas retreats just as slowly.

When this brings them even with the Remus and Patton puppets, the figure finally strikes. The sword whistles through the air above their heads and the puppets fall. Their joints clatter and their limbs splay. Remus's head goes bouncing off of the platform. Patton stares into nothing with that same awful smile. The figure ends this stroke with it's sword point resting in the hollow of Thomas's throat. He swallows. His eyes follow the familiar tensing of the figure's shoulders. It gives him enough warning to bolt before the next strike.

He vaults off of the platform, a flurry of footsteps directly behind him. He heads for the opposite side of the square, and back into the streets. He's dodging dilapidated walls and empty booths. There's gasping breath and pounding steps following his own. No matter how fast he is they never pull any farther back.

It's a short chase. The buildings stop and the streets dead end at a cliff. The drop is perilously high and a barren rocky wasteland spreads out below it. There are no signs of life as far as the eye can see. The figure skids onto the open ledge a split second after he does. It wastes no time in lunging at him.

He scrambles to the side, looking desperately for something to defend himself with. He sees a long piece of rebar, grabs for it. He's just in time to poorly parry a swing at his head. The figure swings again, and again. Each time he just barely blocks. His heart is racing. They circle each other warily. His survival instincts are screaming at him to fight back.

So he does. He stops reacting, starts advancing. He strikes out at the figure with the rebar. It reacts to his sudden ferocity by stumbling for the first time. He has the upper hand now. Pushing back, hitting at his opponent quick and hard. He takes a wild last swing and makes contact. There's a near deafening crack. The figure staggers back, wobbles and then steadies at the very edge of the cliff.

As he watches, the mask cracks. It falls in two perfect pieces and he's left staring at his own face. Only he's never looked in the mirror and seen so much pain. Or so much cold rage. _Oh please no._ There's only one person it can be, standing so precariously on the edge of such a long drop. There's only one side left.

"Roman?" His own voice is small in his ears, confused, terrified. "What's going on?"

Roman's glare never waivers as he throws his sword off to the side. He flings his arms open wide, closes his eyes, and falls backwards.

"No!" Thomas screams, jolting forward to try to grab him. His fingers close on empty air. He has one brief glimpse of Roman's body, bleeding and broken on the rocks below before the ledge crumbles and he too falls into the darkness.

☆☆☆

This time when Thomas gasps himself awake it's closer to midnight. He's only been asleep for a couple of hours at most. He shudders and shakes, flings back the covers, sits at the edge of the bed. He drops his head into his hands. His face is wet with tears, and they keep coming. 

"What. The hell. Was that." His voice is hoarse. He's probably been screaming. It's a wonder no one's popped up to check on him. He could really use Patton's company right now. It might erase the horrible image of Patton collapsed and dead eyed on that stage.

Come to think of it, why hasn't Patton popped up to check? Or Logan? His behavior's been so off the last few days. They've never left him on his own with a problem like this before. He dumped a lot on them Friday, but surely it wasn't so bad they didn't have time for him at all…

What if… He's hit with a sudden terrifying thought. What if the dreams weren't dreams. What if something's really wrong in his head. What if… _oh no please…_ what if they're all really...Gone. It would explain the chaos in his thoughts, the lack of drive, the feeling of being hollowed out like an apple with no core.

No. No, he's not going there. Yes there's something wrong, he can feel that now. But it can't mean… that, it can't mean everyone is… He refuses to believe it. He'll just call someone up, prove to himself his sides are all still there, still whole.

But who should he call? Logan is the best choice for confronting reality, Patton is the best at comfort. Virgil is definitely still up, and would definitely understand. Roman would probably offer to fight the nightmares for him. A flash of nightmare Roman sends a shiver down his spine.

He doesn't want to worry any of them, is the problem. Sure they would help, but if he's feeling at the end of his rope, what are they dealing with? How can he pile anything else on top of it? 

Another memory, this one from before the nightmares, forms in his mind. Someone standing fierce and determined between him and his own emotions gone awry. Maybe… He closes his eyes, ignores the nagging voice that says no one will come, and reaches. He reaches for a part of himself he's never reached for, calls a name he hadn't known even a week ago. _Please._

At the answering susurration he opens his eyes. _Oh thank God._

"Thomas?" Janus seems confused, looks as exhausted as he himself feels, and isn't exactly smiling welcomingly. But he's whole, and he's unharmed. His voice is steady and strong. Right now he's the most beautiful thing Thomas has ever seen.

Thomas lets the last few days catch up with him. He doesn't try to hide the tears as his face crumples. "There's something really really wrong."

Janus's brows furrow, but he nods. "I know."

"I think I really screwed up. Can you help me?"

Immediately, Janus holds out a hand. "I think you'd better come with me." 

Thomas takes it, together they sink down into the mindscape.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We begin to see where the problem lies.

Together they rise up into the mirror of his living room. Janus immediately drops his hand, and Thomas tries not to feel hurt. It's dark, the only light is coming from the kitchen. There's also the clattering sound of dishes being washed, and a slightly strained humming floating out. Patton moves quickly in and out of view, drying and putting things away.

Something in Thomas's chest settles a bit more. He takes a few steps towards the kitchen as Janus clears his throat. Patton whips around, nearly dropping the mixing bowl he was drying. "Who- Thomas?" He sounds confused, but not upset, stepping around the divide to join them. "Janus? What's going on, is everything ok?"

His eyes are still as warm as ever when they meet Thomas's, the concern and affection shining clear in them. Relief puts another crack in the floodgates behind Thomas's ribs. Suddenly he's sobbing again, too hard to catch a breath or speak full sentences. "No- it's… I-" He sucks in a heaving breath. "Pat… I ca- I can't…"

Patton is at his side in an instant, wrapping him up in a tight hug. "Hey, kiddo, no. It's ok, you're alright." Thomas clutches at the back of Patton's shirt, trying desperately to stop crying. "It's ok," Patton soothes again, carding gentle fingers through Thomas's hair. "You don't have to say anything right now. Let's sit down, over here, come on sweetheart." 

He guides Thomas over to the couch, pulling him back into his arms as soon as they're both settled. Thomas ends up nearly in his lap, head tucked under the side's chin, being slowly rocked. No one had held him quite like this in years, not since the last time he'd gone to his mother for comfort. It only makes the tears come faster. Patton hums a little into his hair. "That's it kiddo, let it out. You're ok, you're safe. Your old dad's got you."

He feels the sofa behind him dip. There's a light, barely there pat on his back. "I don't know exactly what happened." Janus murmures softly. "He called me, said there was something wrong." A sigh. "Well we certainly couldn't tell that already." 

Patton's only response is to hold Thomas tighter. Now that he's no longer fighting the tears, Thomas finds he can breathe a little easier. The dull ache in his throat subsides. The sobs lessen, lighten, until he's only hiccuping lightly. He hears Janus get up off the couch and move away again. Still Patton doesn't push, just hums soft nonsense words and runs a hand rhythmically down his back.

When he's sure he can actually speak again, Thomas pulls away. Patton lets him, but takes his hand and squeezes it reassuringly. Janus is back again, pressing a glass of water on him. "Drink this. It won't help at all." Thomas manages a small smile of thanks, and drains the whole thing in under ten seconds. When he's done, he holds it awkwardly, unable to meet either side's gaze.

"Thomas?" Patton squeezes his hand again. "Do you think you can tell us what's going on now?"

He feels completely drained. The idea of recounting the last two days is exhausting. But he called Janus up for a reason and that reason is still very pressing. So he takes a breath and starts. "I haven't been doing so good. I can't seem to do anything but lay around. I don't _want_ to do anything but sleep. But I'm having nightmares." He sighs and rubs his face. "There's something wrong with me and I don't know what or why."

The other two exchange a loaded glance over his head. "Since the wedding?" Patton asks quietly. Thomas nods.

"What kind of nightmares?" Janus asks, face troubled.

"I don't really want to talk about them. They're pretty terrible, and gross." That gets him another meaning filled look between his sides. 

"Terrible and gross like something Remus might come up with?" Janus prods. 

Thomas shudders at the mention of the Duke, a polaroid flash of his head bouncing off the platform unshakable for a moment. "Not...exactly. A little, but they were more coherent than anything he usually sends me."

"It might help if you gave us some idea of what the dreams were about." Patton sounded uncertain.

"He's right. It might give us some clue as to why you've been so...indisposed." There's only the slightest hesitation in Janus's voice.

"...It was about...you." He can't look at either of them, not if he's going to talk about this.

"Me?" Patton asks, "Or…?"

"All of you. Both of you, and Logan, and Virgil… even Remus. Hurt. Bleeding, dying…" He trails off as tears threaten to overwhelm him.

"Oh Thomas, I'm so sorry, that sounds awful. I-"

"You didn't mention Roman." Janus interrupts, cutting to the heart of the matter as usual.

"He wasn't...he, um, I had to…" Thomas can't quite bring himself to say it outloud, to lay any of the blame for this horror fuel on Roman.

But, "He was the one doing the hurting." Janus surmises, and Thomas nods trying not to flinch at the wounded noise from Patton.

For a few moments there's silence. Thomas absently catalogues the differences between his apartment and the version conjured up for his facets. Mostly it's just bigger, more space between couch and television, a larger dining table and kitchen. More shelves, cluttered with books and knickknacks. He still feels a little off balance being here instead of the other way around.

"But it was just a dream." He finally manages to say. He's proud of how it barely sounds like a question.

"Oh absolutely." Janus's mouth twists oddly. "We're all obviously very dead right now."

Patton gives him a wan smile, and rests a hand on Thomas's shoulder. "But with how little of everyone else we've seen, maybe it does mean something is off. We should talk to them. Surely they'll come out of their rooms now that Thomas is here."

Janus scowls. "I'm not giving them a choice." He manifests a second pair of arms and makes a twisting upward motion. There's a sudden swell of pressure that's almost sound, and then the whoosh he's come to associate with the sides rising up. Virgil and Logan manifest in their usual locations.

"Deceit! What the hell do you-"

"This had better be more important than the last time you summoned me…"

"-Thomas?"

"...what is going on?"

But Thomas can't answer either of them, because his heart is doing something unpleasant in his chest. The space surrounding the tv is glaringly empty of either Creativity. Janus repeats the motion, and then Patton tries it, but nothing happens.

"Oh no. No, no, please." Thomas whispers.

"It doesn't mean anything for certain." Janus says firmly, but his eyes are wide and a little afraid.

"Maybe they're deliberately ignoring us." Patton says, voice quiet.

"Oh god." Thomas buries his head in his hands.

" _What_ is going on?" Logan asks again, tone sharp.

"Thomas needs to talk to us, all of us. But the twins…" Patton gestures helplessly to the corner. "They didn't show."

Logan's brow furrows. "Roman has refused to leave his room for days, are you truly surprised he didn't come?"

"Oh yes, and I'm sure Remus ignored his very first invitation out of sibling solidarity." Janus hisses bitingly.

Patton huffs a sigh. "What if they're too far into the imagination to hear us?"

"Together?" Virgil snorts. "Unlikely."

"Then where are they?" Thomas asks, feeling like the air is slowly slipping out of the room.

"Let's be reasonable here." The tone suggests Logan thinks this is a simple fix. "When was the last time anyone saw or spoke to either of them?"

Patton twists the sleeves of his cat hoodie in his hands. "I saw Roman Saturday morning when I went to check on him. He, ah, slammed the door in my face. I've knocked since, but he never answered."

"Remus was downstairs Friday night, before I slept. I haven't seen him since then." Janus glances in his direction, then hastily adds. "That's not unusual though, he spends a lot of time in the imagination."

"Presumably Remus slept sometime that night. We should check their rooms, and then possibly the imagination. We will likely find them, and then we can finish this discussion." Logan gives a decisive nod. Janus nods back and then abruptly vanishes.

"I'll go." Virgil offers and then scrambles up the stairs.

There is silence, the awkward kind, in Virgil's wake. Patton and Logan studiously avoid looking at each other. Thomas curls instinctively further in on himself, wrapping his arms around his stomach. He's beginning to regret the food he'd eaten earlier.

Janus returns first. "Nothing in his room. I tried calling from there, he can usually hear me when I do no matter where he is. I got no answer." He takes a deep breath and starts to say something else.

Virgil takes that moment to pop back into place, eyes wide, breath uneven. "He's not there, his bed doesn't even look like it's been slept in. And-" he cuts himself off with a snap, eyes darting to Janus.

"Don't stop on my account, Virgil. I'm sure whatever you say will be something I can use to make this situation so much worse." 

Virgil glares harder and huffs. "His door to the imagination is...gone!" he finishes, distressed and plaintive.

"What does...what does that mean?" Patton asks, sounding near tears himself.  
Thomas's gut twists and his breath stutters in his chest.

For the first time, Logan sounds unsure of himself. "Honestly, I don't know."

"Lo, you don't think...they ducked out, do you?" Virgil says, flinching when Thomas and Patton let out twin whimpers.

"Remus _would_ do that!" Janus snaps, eyes flashing.

"Well neither would Roman!" Virgil snarls back. 

"You're the one who brought it up!"

On the couch Patton makes another whining sound, clutching at Thomas's arm. Thomas doesn't have any breath left to whine. The room is spinning around and his lungs are on fire. The sound of Virgil's reply is drowned out by the rushing in his ears. He brings his head down to his knees, gasping, shaking. He presses a weak hand to his chest. Every gulp of air he drags in is both too much and not enough.

"--Thomas!" A sudden grip on his shoulders startles him. He rears backward into the couch, staring at Logan, who is hovering above him. "Can you hear me?"

Thomas nods jerkily. "Good. Now breathe for me while I count, ok? In, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Out, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. That's good, Thomas, again please. In…"

He breathes, Logan counts, and very slowly the room stops contorting in his vision. The air comes more freely and his stomach settles into a dull ache. He blinks back tears for what seems like the hundredth time today and gives Logan a shaky smile.

Logan returns a poor attempt of his own, clears his throat, and steps back. He looks around, and Thomas does the same. The other three are staring at him with stricken expressions. Virgil seems to be on the edge of crying himself. Logan coughs again and fusses with his tie. He fixes Thomas with a steadier look.

"I don't think either Roman or Remus would 'duck out'. And you are not showing any of the symptoms I would associate with a complete lack of creativity. Therefore, they must be somewhere inside your mind. Gone beyond calling, or deliberately avoiding us, but here nonetheless."

It's a small comfort, but it is comfort. Still, this disappearance must be what's been eating away at him for the last few days. Whatever happened to the twins it's very clear that Thomas is struggling in the wake of it. He digs his fingers into his own knees, feeling some motivation for the first time since the wedding. "Guys, we have to find them."

Logan nods. "I agree." There are affirmative noises from Patton and Janus. Thomas looks at Virgil, who is chewing on his thumbnail with red rimmed eyes.

"Yeah, obviously. But how exactly are we supposed to do that?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next are a little shorter for plot set up reasons, so I'll try to get the next one out this week as well.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plan is made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit of an emotional respite, enjoy it while you can.

"They can't be anywhere in the house other than their rooms, I don't think." Logan is unsurprisingly the one to answer Virgil's question. "It would have been very difficult for them to ignore the summons if they were. I can only conclude that they are somewhere in the imagination…" he trails off, lips pressed into a thin line. "... or in the subconscious."

Virgil curses quietly. Patton grips Thomas's arm tighter and Janus shudders, drawing in a breath.

"So, what exactly does that mean?" He's getting tired of the quaver in his own voice 

Patton chews on his lip before answering. "It means it's gonna take some doing to find them kiddo. If they are in the imagination, the best place to start would be Roman's kingdom. But the way we get there is…"

"...The door in Roman's room." That makes an unfortunate amount of sense.

"Right." Virgil huffs. "Except it's not there anymore."

"There's still Remus's door, or even the front door." Patton's expression hovers somewhere between hopeful and desperate.

"It is true that either one would gain us entry into the imagination-" Logan starts.

Virgil makes an irritated sound. "Yeah, about a million miles away from where we need to go."

Janus glares at him."You have a better idea?" Virgil rolls his eyes, and Janus returns the gesture. "I thought not."

"Still," Logan resumes, tone cool, "traversing the imagination with neither Creativity to guide us may prove difficult."

Patton's eyes go wide, and he smiles almost excitedly. "Oh! I have something that might help with that. Excuse me just a mo, kiddos." He stands and sinks out before anyone can respond.

In the quiet that follows, Thomas fiddles nervously with the edge of one of the couch cushions. "So if they're in the, ah, subconscious?"

Janus's sigh is deep and tired "Then we might be in some trouble. We can't really...go there, not safely anyway."

"What? Why?"

"You're familiar with the jungian concept of the subconscious." Logan pauses for a moment and Thomas nods encouragingly. "It is the state of pure instinct and drive, without form or reason. We are all part of your conscious mind, part of the filter between it and you, between it and reality. While it is our birthplace, technically speaking, and the source of most of our power and functionality, direct contact with it is antithetical to our very natures."

"Most of us anyway." Janus interjects.

Virgil grits his teeth and growls in his direction. "The point is, if we go there, we could... be lost. And that's if we could even get in in the first place."

Patton is back before Thomas can ask just what the hell that means. There's a large scroll of parchment clutched to his chest. He gestures excitedly at the coffee table. Janus and Logan are quick to move the scattered coasters, handful of movies, and single coffee table book about puppies. When it's clear Patton unrolls the scroll with a flourish. "Here!" He beams at them all.

Janus hums low in his throat and bends to inspect it closer. Logan leans in a bit as well. "Fascinating…" he murmurs to himself.Virgil finally leaves his place on the stairs to hover a few feet away. 

Thomas squints at the parchment. It looks a little like a treasure map. "It's...it's nice Pat, but…"

"What is it?" Virgil finishes for him.

"It's a map of the imagination. Roman made it for me when Thomas first got into those RPG thingies. It might be a little out of date, you know how he likes...to...change.." Patton trailed off, sounding suddenly uncertain and sad.

Logan looked up sharply. "No this should be very helpful, thank you Patton."

"Look at the detail." Janus breathes, then clears his throat. "Ah, it's awful. Very unimpressive."

Thomas looks closer. 

It's intricate, a delicately traced coastline on the edge of something called the 'Skylit Sea'. Mountains sweep down either side, and a broad open space sits by the coast, labelled the 'Fields of Creation'. His eyes catch on a star, dead center. It sits between what looks like a large city and a small suburb. A ribbon marker carefully drawn around it says simply, 'Home'.

There are large buildings dotting the landscape with names like 'Faerlight University', and 'Tiamat's Lair'. Some of the natural features bear labels like 'Blackpool Fen', 'Nevawary Woods', and the 'Misty Lake'. There is an ornate compass rose in one corner and a distance scale in the other. 

The edges of the map fade out into uncharted territory. Roman has doodled dragons and krakens in the margins, and one shadowy space boasts 'Here There Be Monsters'. It's so very Roman that Thomas chuckles a little before he can help himself.

"I assume we are located here." Logan says, gently tapping the star. "There seems to be much more to the imagination than we've previously encountered. I'm not sure where it would be best to begin our search."

"Well, what about Roman's kingdom?" Patton gestures to a castle surrounded by a small village.

"But if both of them are gone, they could be in Remus's place too." Virgil offers, finally having closed the distance to peer over Logan's shoulder. "And it's in the complete opposite direction."

Logan contemplates the map "The door in his room would likely let out somewhere close to his base of operations. It might be faster."

"You've got to be kidding me." Janus stares at Logan, brows drawn. He jabs a finger at something called 'the Citadel'. "It lets out here, right in the middle of one of the most dangerous places in the imagination. And if neither of them are there we'd be over a hundred miles from Roman's half, and safety."

"Yeah, no thanks." Virgil mutters around his thumbnail.

"Roman's palace is still almost half that distance. It would take us a day, maybe more to walk there from where we are." Logan's voice is measured, but the look he levels at Janus is less so. "And that's assuming they are, in fact, in one of their respective domains. We should start with the fastest option, in order to rule it out."

Janus huffs and snaps, "Sure, if your goal is to get hurt, or killed."

"Thomas, where do you think we should start kiddo?"

Thomas is looking at the map again. The names around the Citadel are much less pleasant sounding. He's not sure he's in any hurry to visit. His gaze skates across to Mythshire and the Palace. Even the tiny drawn houses look warm and friendly.

"I think we should go to Roman's kingdom." It's not just because he's afraid. Roman's departure seems more intentional than Remus's. It's probably a good idea to gather what information they can from his creations. That it might be less dangerous is really only a plus.

When he looks up, Janus is eyeing him curiously. Everyone else takes it at face value, making agreeable noises. He wipes his hands on his pants, suddenly conscious of how sweaty his palms are. "Ok, now that that's decided, let's go."

"What! No, are you crazy?" Virgil stares at him incredulously. "It's the middle of the damn night!"

"Kiddo, I want to find them too, but we can't go wandering around in the dark." Patton sits back down next to him and takes his hand again. "Without either of the twins here, we have no control over the world out there. We'll have to wait until morning, just like you would in the real world."

"So what do we do until then." All of the calm that had settled on him while planning seems to evaporate. Morning is hours away and urgency is still gnawing at his stomach.

"We'll make preparations and pack for the trip. You should get some sleep, if you can." It sounds so reasonable when Logan says it. He's not sure he'll ever sleep again unless they find Roman and Remus, alive and unhurt.

Janus holds out a hand. "I can take you back to your room."

"Oh." That's really the last thing he wants. "Um. Could I stay here?"

Patton gives him a small smile. "Of course you can, sweetheart. I'll make you a bed on the couch."

Janus and Logan bustle off while Patton fetches a sheet and grabs a few extra couch pillows. Virgil disappears and returns a couple minutes later with a bundle of fabric, just as Thomas is settling onto the couch. He dumps his armful on top of Thomas and it knocks the wind out of him a little.

"Weighted blanket." He says, by way of explanation. "It helps, y'know, when I'm on edge." He fidgets with the sleeves of his hoodie, looking anywhere but right at Thomas.

It makes something warm settle in Thomas's stomach and he manages a real smile for the first time all night. "Thanks Virge."

Virgil finally meets his eyes with a soft smirk. "Yeah well, just try not to suffocate under it." He sinks out with his customary salute.

Patton has been finishing up in the kitchen, checking windows, and turning out lights. He leaves the light over the stove on, like Thomas does on nights he crashes on the couch. When he makes his way back around to the couch he ruffles Thomas's hair and straightens the blanket.

"Try to get some rest, kiddo. I'll be right upstairs if you need me." He bends to press a quick kiss to Thomas's forehead. It's so much like being tucked in by his mom, he feels safer than he has in days.

"G'night, Pat." He yawns in between the words, slurring them a little. He really hadn't thought he would be able to sleep when Logan suggested it, but he finds his eyes drifting shut.

Even with everything that's wrong right now, it's good to feel so safe and loved. He's not alone in this mess. He drifts off with the sounds of the sides moving around the mindscape as comforting background noise.


	5. Chapter 5

The next thing he's aware of is someone shaking him gently. Thomas burrows further into the pillow, bones feeling like lead and unwilling to give up the warmth of sleep. But the light grip on his shoulder doesn't let up. 

"Hey kiddo, I know you're probably still tired, but the sun's up now. We should get going."

The sudden awareness of where he is and what's going on drops like ice into his consciousness. It's more effective than any coffee could ever be. He sits up abruptly, startling a squeak out of Patton. "Sorry." He mumbles, grimacing at the way his head spins.

"No worries." Is Patton's overly cheerful reply. "I-ah, I fixed you breakfast. You should eat before we head out. It's just toaster strudel, you didn't have much else that was breakfasty." His voice hovers somewhere between apologetic and lecturing.

Thomas snorts a little, softening it with a smile. "Well let's just say grocery shopping hasn't been my top priority the last few days." The implications of that last statement take a moment to sink in. "Wait, you went into the… the real world to make this?"

"Well sure I did. You could probably eat what we've got here, but it likely wouldn't keep your engine running, y'know? It's not the same as what you'd eat out there." He says, as if Thomas was complaining instead of grateful.

"Thanks Pat, it looks good." And it does, for all that his stomach still rebels at the thought of food. He makes himself eat every bite.

By the time he's finished, the other three are all gathered in the living room. In the very early morning light they all look a little worse for wear. Logan is clutching his thermos like a lifeline, Janus flits between the backpacks on the table checking their contents, Virgil is simply scowling at the door as if it insulted his taste in music.

"Does anyone else want breakfast before we hit the road?" Patton sounds almost excited, like they're about to embark on a road trip.

"No thank you." Logan says, and takes a deep swig from the thermos.

"Virge? I've got granola bars, with chocolate chips?" Virgil shakes his head, offering a tight smile.

"I'll take one, Patton, thank you." Janus's voice is stilted and almost formally polite, but his smile is warm. Still, he stows the bar in his pocket as soon as Patton is no longer looking.

"There's no point in putting this off any longer than we have." Logan says pointedly. 

There's a small flurry of activity as the sides all grab a pack each. Patton hands him one that Thomas recognizes as his own usual carry on for flights. "It's mostly food, everything I could find in your kitchen that would keep, but there's also your overnight kit, and a sweater in case you get cold. If you need anything else, we can probably summon it for you." Again, he looks apologetic for not doing more.

Before Thomas can think of a response, Logan clears his throat. As one, they all turn to regard the front door. There is a moment or two of hushed silence until Virgil growls under his breath and stomps over to it. He yanks it open and squints into the dazzling sunlight. He shoots them all an unimpressed look over his shoulder, eyebrows raised.

"Can we go now?"

Stepping outside is incredibly disorienting. The side's home in the mindscape feels so much like his own that Thomas expects to see his neighborhood outside. Instead, he's greeted by the quaint 'New England' suburb from every mid 90's coming of age drama. 

There are tree lined sidewalks that must be gorgeous in the fall. Each brick or brownstone home has its own front yard of lush grass and manicured flower beds. There are a handful of people mowing lawns and washing cars, even a couple of kids on bikes. It is all at once hauntingly familiar and unlike any place he's ever been. He feels like he's lucid dreaming, or wading through constant deja vu.

He's staring back at the house; which looks exactly like the three building townhouse cluster he lives in except the porch stretches across the whole thing; when Virgil's panicked hiss cuts into his thoughts.

"What are you doing? Don't wave at them!"

Patton blinks at Virgil. "Why not? They're our neighbors. I don't want to be rude."

"It's weird. They are weird, Pat, and we don't want to get distracted."

The more he looks around, the more Thomas understands Virgil's discomfort. The people he can see seem to be performing on loop. The lawnmowers repeat a set pattern, the kids on bikes circle the same half a block over and over again. Almost none of them are talking amongst themselves and the ones who are shoot dark looks at them as they pass.

He's ashamed of how long it takes him to notice the dog.

Patton's squeal of "Pupper!" draws all of their attention to it. It's a big dog, shaggy black fur, a bit like a newfoundland in the face. It's following them down the sidewalk on silent paws.

Patton slows a little, probably to let it catch up, but Virgil shakes his head roughly and pulls him along. His eyes are wide and watchful and so Thomas keeps his attention on the dog as well. It slows when they slow, speeds up as they pick up the pace. When it turns down the same street Logan directs them down, hairs raise on the back of Thomas's neck.

They are being followed.

Somehow, without him noticing the sides have maneuvered themselves so he's surrounded on all fronts. Logan on point guiding them, Patton and Janus flank him, Virgil brings up the rear. It becomes painfully obvious when Virgil crowds him forward so he can speak quietly and still be heard. "We need to lose this thing. Lo?"

Logan nods, and takes a sudden sharp right down a side street. The dog follows. They speed up, Patton's hand stealing into his. Goosebumps break out all down Thomas's arms. He shivers. "Guys, what is happening?"

Janus gives a brief head shake. "Later. We need to keep moving."

They take several more sudden turns, ending up in a much emptier neighborhood. No one else is on these streets. In the quiet, Thomas can now hear the dog. It's breath comes in echoing huffs, and the nails scraping the pavement with each step sound much larger than they should be. It's growling low and steady.

He chances a glance back and sees pale silver eyes and huge teeth. Saliva drips in strings from its muzzle, sizzling when it hits the sidewalk. The thing sees him looking and snarls.

" _Fuck!_ " Virgil whispers, then much louder, "RUN!"

So they do.

They dash through someone's yard, scramble over a low wall onto the next street. With a reverberating howl the dog gives chase. Logan cuts corners and weaves them behind and around houses. It's not fast enough.

The dog- the thing, is hot on their heels. Thomas can hear it's rough panting, it's scrabbling claws. It bays loudly and echoes like an entire pack. When Logan hesitates a second too long Virgil takes the lead. Now they're climbing fences and bursting through hedges. They've abandoned the streets entirely.

He's out of breath entirely too quickly. His arm aches from Patton's insistent tugging, but he doesn't dare let go. The panicked careening is vividly similar to his nightmares. He clings to Patton, keeps the others in his sight line. He's terrified they'll suddenly disappear, or worse.

He almost goes down when Virgil jerks to a stop. 

They're cornered. Running down a driveway has trapped them in a backyard with a six foot solid fence. When he turns around the thing is already skulking at the mouth of the driveway.

Looking at it now, Thomas is certain it never was a dog to begin with. It's eyes are far too large. They glow in the shadows, like something from the deep sea. It's tongue lolls out over rows and rows of razor sharp teeth. Whatever is drooling from its mouth eats away at the asphalt of the driveway. There's something alien about the way its limbs move.

It approaches, snarling rabidly, then stops about twenty feet away and paces back and forth. There's a tilt to it's gaping maw that looks almost amused. As if it's toying with them. That choking feeling of terror is getting stronger. The side close ranks around him again, pressing him back against the fence.

"What do we do?" Patton's voice is plaintive.

Logan is craning his head to see down the fence line. "I think there's a gate-"

"We'll never make it." Virgil says sharply, eyes never straying from the thing hunting them.

"Well." Janus pulls his staff out of thin air. "Not all of us at any rate." Virgil cuts a glance at him, and then nods jerkily.

"What the hell does that mean?" Thomas asks, ice in his veins. He's pretty sure he knows, and he's very not okay with it.

"Patton, Logan, when I tell you to go, take Thomas and run." As he speaks, Janus moves to stand beside Virgil. They've both placed themselves very deliberately between whatever the hell that is and Thomas.

"No!" Thomas says, fear making him sharp. "Hell no. We're not leaving you here."

"Thomas, please." Virgil's voice is tense, his entire form trembling and focused. "Just go."

He flounders for something to say that will convince them this is a bad idea. But the not dog suddenly lunges.

"Go!" Janus is already in motion, Virgil half a beat behind.

"Come on!" Patton tugs at him with both hands, much stronger than he looks. Logan is already running. Thomas has no choice but to follow, tears blurring his vision. He tries to look back as Logan unlatches the gate, but Patton is already pulling him through. 

The last thing he hears is a hoarse shout and a high pitched yelp.

☆☆☆

They don't stop running until Thomas gets a stitch in his side. He doubles over, gasping.

"Thomas! Are you ok kiddo?"

"I can't- run- anymore" He just manages to pant out.

Patton hovers over him, patting his back gently. "Logan?"

"We can stop here. We made it a reasonable distance, likely this is as safe as anywhere could be." 

Logan sounds uncertain and breathless as well. It sets anger bubbling up inside Thomas. He staggers to his feet, jerks out of Patton's hold to round on them both.

"What the hell! We just left them there! We have to go back for them, they could be hurt. Or d…" He can't make himself say it, the word clogs his throat. He can't lose any more of his sides, he just can't. Hot tears flood his eyes.

Patton is looking at him with overwhelming sympathy. "Oh sweetheart, no."

"They will more than likely be alright. We are not that easy to kill." Logan's voice is gentle. "You however are much more vulnerable here. And it's our job to protect you."

"Not- not at the expense of yourselves. I don't want that!"

"We can't really do anything else kiddo. You're the whole of us. If anything happened to you…" Patton trails off, but the implication is clear.

Still. "I don't like that. I don't want any of you hurt because of me."

Logan sighs. "We will of course try to keep it from coming to that."

Thomas doesn't know how to reply, so he turns his attention to their surroundings. There's not much to distract him. They stopped near a small corner market. The houses are a little closer together, there are a few stores here and there, but otherwise it looks indistinguishable from any of the other streets they've been down today. There isn't another soul to be seen.

He's not going to be able to think about anything else until he asks the question spiraling through his thoughts. "Can you?" He asks, dreading the answer. "Die I mean?"

Unease flickers across Logan's face. "Yes." He starts, slowly, "However like I said, not easily."

"What would have to happen?" 

Logan and Patton exchange loaded looks. "Thomas, are you sure you want to know this?" Patton asks.

He really doesn't want to, but something tells him he needs to. "I'm sure."

Logan tugs at his tie, shifting into lecture mode. "Obviously we die if you do. Or if our functions become unnecessary we might fade back into the subconscious, although that is extremely unlikely. Only a very severe injury to an already weakened side is liable to kill them outright." He hesitates. "There is one other way, but I'm not certain it's relevant."

The need for answers is still there. He stares at Logan expectantly.

"...If you were to totally reject one of us, consciously choose to, you could put an end to our existence."

That lands in Thomas's stomach like a blow, nearly knocking the air out of him. "I wouldn't… I would never!" The idea of having that much power over them is awful. The thought that he could ever…

"We know that, sweetheart, of course we do!" Patton hastens to reassure him. For some reason he doesn't feel like he deserves it. He feels sick with the knowledge of how easy it is for him to hurt them. 

"I just want to keep you all safe." He whispers, voice shaky. Logan looks torn. Patton hugs him, swift and fierce. "Pat, I want to go back and find them. Can we, please." He's on the edge of tears again.

"That won't be necessary." Janus's sudden drawl has Thomas pulling away from Patton in shock. He and Virgil are rounding the corner. Janus has an arm slung over Virgil's shoulder, and he's limping, but they both seem miraculously unharmed. They even sport matching smug looks. "You realize you very nearly went in a full circle, don't you?"

Virgil drops Janus's arm as soon as they get close, heading straight for Thomas. He grabs him by both shoulders, scanning him up and down. "Are you ok? Are you hurt at all?"

Thomas laughs a little hysterically. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?" He's light headed with the abrupt relief. He watches in awe as a shallow cut at Virgil's hairline stops bleeding in front of his eyes. Virgil is frowning at him, brows furrowed, so he takes pity. "I'm fine Virge. Are you ok?"

A flush spreads over Virgil's face. "Fine. I'm fine. We're fine." He yanks his hands away and shoves them in his pockets.

"Speak for yourself." Janus snarks from where Patton is trying to take Virgil's place as a crutch. "Seriously Patton, keep hovering, I'm obviously grievously injured."

Patton gives him the closest look he has to a glare. "You're limping."

"Nothing I can't walk off."

Logan looks back and forth between the interactions, twisting his hands together and biting his lip. "I am very glad neither of you are seriously hurt." The tension in his shoulders Thomas hadn't even noticed slowly eases. With a jolt he realizes that Logan has been just as afraid as he's been this entire time. 

Virgil sighs. "Thanks Lo. We should get moving though. There could be more of those things around."

Logan humms a small agreement. "We may however need to ask directions. I am uncertain where we are, or which road leads out of Edenton from here."

"I have an idea about that." Janus keeps his voice soft and neutral, but he's staring expectantly at Virgil.

Virgil grits his teeth. "No. No way."

"He does spend more time out here than we do. He certainly won't have any ideas about the best way to travel."

For a moment Thomas is worried that Virgil will crack his jaw with how hard he's scowling. "Fine." He grinds out. "But for the record, I hate this, and I hate you."

"Virgil!" Patton's tone is scolding, but his eyes are sad. Virgil grimaces.

Janus rolls his eyes and sniffs. "It's fine. Really Patton, it's practically affection from this one." He gives Patton a small but warm smile and submits to being helped.

Virgil stalks off down the sidewalk, leaving Thomas and the others to scramble after him.

"Where are we going?" He asks softly once they've gotten up to pace. 

Logan sighs, "I have no idea, but at least we have a destination now." 

Janus remains silent.

They walk several blocks, with Virgil in the lead like the world's angriest mother duck. Larger buildings begin to appear amidst the houses, business and office spaces. The smell of fresh cut grass gives way to the smell of concrete and car exhaust. 

Some of the businesses look like they've been converted from houses. Virgil stops in front of one of these. It's a Victorian style house with a turret. The door is painted bright yellow and a plaque beside it reads, 'Office Hours 11am to 3pm. Walk-ins Welcome '

"This was your idea, you get to knock."

Janus limps past him, pastes on his most charming smile, and raps loudly with the brass door knocker. There's nothing for a moment, then with a commotion the door opens.

Thomas stares. He's gotten used to looking at his own face since he first met the sides, but this version he's never seen except for on video or in the mirror. Still, it's familiar. The shock of pink hair, the same style glasses that Logan and Patton sport, the beige sweater vest pink tie combo. He'd have known who he was looking at even without the overly chipper greeting.

"Janus! Do you, how do? And Virgil! I can't say I was expecting either of you, and you're very early. Oh, and you brought friends, I…" He trails off, staring back at Thomas like he's seen a ghost. Thomas waves awkwardly.

"Hey doc." Virgil starts, pulling nervously on his hoodie strings. "We could use some help."

Emile Picani swallows, brows arching. "Well alright, come in then. I'll put on some tea." He watches them filter in past him. Thomas tries to ignore the slightly awed look in his eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out of the frying pan and into the fire, as it were

Over cups of chamomile in the sitting area, they fill Dr. Picani in on everything that's happened so far. Thomas takes the time to flesh out the details of his dream for his sides as well, trying to ignore their looks of sympathy and unease. It's hard when that same unease is prickling just under his skin. When everything has been said, Picani blinks at them for a long time.

Finally he takes a deep breath. "Huh. That… is a sticky wicket. But as Uncle Iroh says, there's nothing a good cup of tea can't fix."

Logan glances at Thomas, one brow arched, and then says "I'm not certain that particular piece of advice is applicable here."

Picani tuts at him, and smiles broadly. "Nonsense. You've already got a plan. The tea is just to steady everyone's nerves while we figure out how you can get where you're going without running into any other creepy crawlies from the outskirts."

That catches Thomas's attention. "Wait, you know what that thing was?" 

Picani wrinkles his nose. "Well not for certain, but it sounds like something the subconscious would spawn." He hesitates, then says, "Roman usually keeps the borders pretty airtight, but there's been an uptick in the number that slip through the last few weeks. It's caused a bit of an uproar to be honest." His voice is deliberately light. He avoids looking directly at any of them.

Thomas's stomach gives an unhappy twist. _Weeks._

The expression on Janus's face doesn't help, he looks pensive. "That's reassuring. I'd _love_ to run into more of those things." The irritation in his voice almost masks the fear.

The doctor's face brightens again "That I can definitely help with. You need transportation. Now what's the first item on the agenda?"

Logan clears his throat and spreads the map out on the low table in front of him. "Getting to Mythshire. We don't exactly know the way. And traveling on foot at this point seems ill advised."

"Mmn-hmn. What about the bus? It's a bit of a day trip, but for safety's sake..."

"There's a bus that goes out to Roman's fantasy realm?" Thomas tries to keep the incredulity out of his voice, but it seeps through anyhow. Everything about the imagination is throwing him for a loop. He feels a bit like he _still_ can't catch his breath.

"Only two a day, but I have clients from Mythshire that take it down here to see me. The next one leaves at 10 am sharp. I could drop you off at the bus station if you like? After we finish our tea."

Patton has been quiet for most of the conversation, but he offers the doctor a grateful smile. "That would be amazing, thank you Doctor Picani."

"Call me Emile, please." He returns the smile, and Patton nods acknowledgement.

Virgil offers his own relieved half smile "Thanks, Doc."

"Eh, hakuna matata. After all there's no shame in letting those who love you help you." He flounders a little. "Ah… not that I...well you know the rest of the quote." It's comforting how much warmth, wisdom, and quiet dignity he exudes. _I bet he's a good therapist._

That thought brings Thomas back around to why they were here in the first place. "...so. How do you three know each other?"

Janus smirks a little into his cup. "The good doctor has made his councilor's services available to all denizens of your mind. Some of us take more advantage of this than others ...myself included. And of course he _hasn't_ been a vital part of Virgil's support team for over a year now." He deliberately fails to notice Virgil's glower.

"Virge, that's not anything to be ashamed of." Thomas goes to pat Virgil's shoulder, only to have him jerk away.

He transfers his glare from Janus to Thomas. " _I_ know that, do _you?_ " The frustration behind his tone is palpable.

Thomas winces, looking down at his lap. The entire time they've been sitting here he's been pushing back at the thought that if he'd admitted to himself sooner that he was struggling, asked for help, maybe they wouldn't be in this mess. Clearly, he isn't the only one thinking it.

As if picking up on those thoughts, Picani chimes in again. "I have to say, I'm extremely concerned by Roman's… erm... absence. I know he's been under a lot of stress, but I'd hoped he knew he could come to me to talk-" He's interrupted by Patton surging to his feet.

Everyone stares at the abrupt gesture. Patton flushes, but sets his shoulders. "...we should probably head out now."

"Of course." Picani says. "Follow me."

He leads them out through the back, past a handful of small cubicles, to the lot behind the house. A beat up blue minivan with a Tigger bobblehead on the dash is the only vehicle in sight. Logan heads directly to the front passenger seat.

"Nice ride." Virgil drawls.

Patton pokes his head into the back. "It's so roomy." He helps first Virgil, then Janus in before clambering across to the far middle seat. As Thomas starts to follow, Picani lays a hand on his arm.

"Thomas, may I talk to you for a minute?" He looks nervous and concerned. It immediately puts Thomas on edge.

"Sure." He hedges. "What is it?"

There's a determined set to the doctor's face, a focus in his gaze that makes Thomas feel pinned. "You must never give into despair. Allow yourself to slip down that road and you surrender to your lowest instincts. In the darkest times, hope is something you give yourself. That is the meaning of inner strength." He says, finishing with a firm nod.

Then he strides towards the van, leaving Thomas to flounder in his wake. It's definitely a quote, but not one Thomas recognizes offhand. And it feels extremely pointed. He spends the ride to the bus station turning it over and over in his mind, trying to figure out why it feels more like a prophetic warning than advice.

☆☆☆

Before he leaves them, Dr. Picani pulls Patton off to the side for a similar private chat. Thomas fights the instinct to pry and keeps a respectful distance. He then makes the rounds of the other three, exchanging warm goodbyes with Janus and Virgil, and assuring Logan he can drop by if he ever needs anything. Finally he draws up to Thomas.

"Don't look so worried. I'm sure you'll work everything out." He clasps Thomas's hand in an assured handshake. "It was an honor, truly."

The smile Thomas manages sits awkwardly on his face. Neither the complement, nor the reassurance do anything to dampen the queasy squirming of his stomach. 

He's brought out of his thoughts by Virgil sidling up to him slowly. He avoids Thomas's eyes and tugs at his sleeves, taking a deep breath. "Sorry. About earlier I mean. That wasn't fair and I was an asshole."

Thomas's heart twists, guilt and affection competing for space in his chest. "Don't be. You weren't exactly wrong, I could be more open to the idea of therapy. It's a really great thing you're doing for both of us, Virge. I'm proud of you."

Whatever Virgil might have said in response is drowned out by a siren like yowling. _"Next stop, Mythshire Commons and Palace Green."_ Thomas stares as a large multi-legged cat creature skids to a stop in front of them.

"What the actual fuck?" Virgil mutters beside him.

Blinking and rubbing his eyes does nothing to change what he's seeing. "...Catbus?" 

"It's the Catbus!" Patton all but squeals at the same time, bouncing in place a little.

The thing sits there making a sound halfway between a purr and an engine rumble, blinking at them with it's glowing headlight eyes. One of the windows in its tabby fur elongates expectantly into a door.

Logan glares at it, expression sour. "This is ridiculous."

Janus's mouth twitches. "Really?" He snickers. "It makes perfect sense to me." He snorts, then clasps a hand over his mouth, a muffled giggle slipping out.

Logan rolls his eyes. Patton nearly vibrates with excitement. It's Thomas who finally says, " Nothing to it, but to do it." and heads towards the thing.

Stepping up into it is unsettling. The furry handholds are warm and disturbingly squishy. Inside, the rumbling purr is even louder. It's almost empty of other passengers. One lone figure slumps in the very last seat, dark jacket draped over their face, clearly asleep. They don't stir at all as the others filter in behind Thomas.

Thomas settles in near the front, next to a window. The seat conforms instantly to him like memory foam. It's actually pretty comfortable. Logan, Janus, and Virgil scatter themselves near him. Logan still looks extremely irritated.

Patton starts sneezing almost instantly, but that doesn't seem to dampen his spirits at all. He pets the walls and coos soft endearments. He pokes his head out of a window, and bounces between seats. He doesn't settle until the bus lurches into motion with another yowl.

The purring is a little too loud for conversation. Picani had said it was a long ride. Thomas resigns himself to being alone with his thoughts and watching the scenery go by. They slip quickly out of the city and onto a road hemmed in by old growth forest on either side.

He finds his thoughts centering on Roman. The expression on his face as he sunk out after their last conversation circles around in his mind. Occasionally it's overshadowed by dream Roman's face before he flung himself off the cliff. Both are portraits of devastation that _he_ put there.

Sure there was a conflict between everyone, and Roman was the one to decide on going to the wedding, but if he's honest with himself it's still his fault. He didn't have to abide by the courtroom verdict. He has all the control in his relationship with the sides. If there is anyone to blame for this mess they're in it's him, and he has to fix it. Whatever the cost.

No one has said anything, but the possibility that Roman deliberately left because he was hurt is never far from his thoughts. The others must be thinking it as well. And what does it mean that Remus is also gone? Are both creativities leaving him to face the consequences of ignoring his own creative goals? Or has he somehow pushed them away?

It seems unlikely that Remus would join Roman in self imposed exile, but how does he really know? He barely knows this side of himself he's rejected once before. But if he didn't go willingly…

The soft warmth and thrumming vibrations keep him from being too tense, but they don't stop the miserable ache in his heart. Tears threatening and thoughts a whirlwind, Thomas barely notices as he slips into fretful sleep.

☆☆☆

He is back on the stage in the bombed out city. Sitting alone on the platform, not another soul in sight. The darkness presses in around him. Icy gusts of wind send shivers crawling across his skin.

The only other sound is a single voice, lifted in song. With a shock he recognizes Remus's high lilt, the ins and outs of a cheerful tune. It seems to draw nearer until he can make out the words.

 _"There were two sisters sat in a bour;  
Binnorie, 0 Binnorie  
There came a knight to be their wooer.  
By the bonny mill-dams of Binnorie_

_He courted the eldest with a glove and ring, But he loved the youngest above all things.  
He courted the eldest with a broach and knife, But he loved the youngest above his life."_

There's a slow, shuffling clunk-clack as Remus makes his way into the square. He's carrying his head in his hands, and there's a bloody stump where his neck should be. When it catches sight of Thomas the head grins broadly. Nausea rises in Thomas's throat. The mouth moves now, back into the song.

_"The eldest she was sorely vexed,  
And sorely envied her sister fair.  
The eldest said to the youngest one,  
'Will ye go and see our father's ships come in?'_

_She's taken her by the lilly white hand,  
And led her down to the river strand.  
The youngest stood upon a stone,  
The eldest came and pushed her in."_

Drawing to a stop in front of Thomas, Remus makes a complicated gesture and tosses his own head into the air. He begins to juggle it with two shimmering black bowling pins. The sight sends a shiver of revulsion down Thomas's spine. He wants to beg him to stop, but he can't seem to move or speak 

_" '0 sister, sister, reach your hand,  
And ye shall be heir of half my land.'_

_'0 sister, I'll not reach my hand,  
And I'll be heir of all your land.  
'Shame for the hand that I should take,  
It 's twin me and my world's unmake.' "_

The gleeful smirk remains on Remus's tumbling visage. The tune is still a jaunty thing, but something mournful and hollow echoes beneath the words. It brings choked and frantic tears flooding Thomas's eyes. Still, he can't look away.

Remus catches his head with a flourish and pops it back onto his neck with a sickening crunch. His smirk softens into something almost affectionate as he finishes out the verse.

_" '0 sister, reach me but your glove,  
And sweet William shall be your love.'_

_'Sink on, nor hope for hand or glove,  
And sweet William shall better be my love.'"_

There's silence again as his voice trails off. They stare at each other. Thomas can feel the tears streaking his face, but he can't raise a hand to wipe them away. Still smiling softly Remus reaches out and does it for him. His touch is heart-rendingly gentle.

"You're lost, Dear Thomas. Utterly turned around even." Remus chucks him under the chin. "Why I'd even go so far as to say-"

"What are you doing here?" A hoarse shout of rage cuts him off.

Remus's eyes widen with something like fear and he stumbles back a few steps. His gaze is fixed over Thomas's left shoulder where footsteps thunder across the stage. Thomas tries desperately to turn and look as they rush towards him. His breath stutters in his chest, goosebumps prickling at his skin.

Not looking at him, Remus whispers. "You're going the wrong way." He doesn't move to defend himself as a blur of fury and steel vaults over Thomas and slams into him. 

Roman snarls and shouts as he hacks into his brother's form. _Stop!_ Thomas tries to shout, still frozen motionless. _Please, oh god, don't…_ It makes no difference. He's forced to watch silently as Remus cracks like old firewood under the onslaught. As Roman bludgeons him into tiny blood soaked splinters.

Nausea and terror threaten to choke him as Roman stands panting in the aftermath. He turns his furious glare on Thomas. "I asked what you were doing here."

There is no answer he can give.

Romans grip tightens on the hilt of his sword. He raises it threateningly. "You shouldn't be here. You _can't_ be here!" When Thomas still doesn't answer he grits his teeth, shifting to strike.

"Stop!" An unfamiliar voice rings out.

Thomas has just enough time to see Roman's face twist with enraged recognition before everything goes dark.

☆☆☆

"Look out!"

The shout isn't what wakes him as much as the sudden jerking halt. He's flung forward into the furry headrest and then backwards again. There are several nauseating lurches as the catbus seems to skitter sideways.

Someone's arm slides around him to brace until the motion stops. Thomas looks up into a pair of mirrored shades. The effect of them, perched on his own face and reflecting his wide eyed expression back at him, is of an infinite mirror illusion. He's half convinced he's still dreaming.

"-steady there babes, you hurt?"

Numbly he shakes his head.

"Good. That was a helluva of a thing you just dreamed. But we don't have time for that now. Seems your presence here has caught attention we don't want."

The sunglasses, leather jacket, and sardonic tone coalesce in his perception. Thomas blinks in confusion. Seriously, is he still dreaming? "-Sleep?" 

"Sure, whatever, that works. Up you get, we need to get out of here fast. Same goes for the rest of you. _Vamanos!"_

As his sleep character hauls him up and bustles him down the aisle, Thomas catches sight of the sides. They all look just as shaken and confused as he feels. Frustration flares under his skin. Being tugged around the inside of _his_ mind is getting old.

"What the hell-" Virgil starts the protest crowding his own throat. 

"No time." Sleep cuts him off. "Unless you wanna probably die, move your asses." 

They all follow, although none of them look happy about it. 

All protests dry up as soon as they pile out of the bus. The road ahead of them is...gone. Like it's been washed away by a flood, or scooped from the ground by a giant trowel. Both sides of the gulf look like they've been through a tornado. Trees are uprooted, or snapped clean in two. The earth has been churned up. There's debris, including giant boulders, piled just where the road vanishes. 

A greenish grey mist hangs over their surroundings. The catbus hisses and shrinks back from it. An acrid chemical smell invades Thomas's nose. As he watches, he can see the mist starting to eat away at the edges of everything it touches. 

"Careful!" Sleep snaps at Logan, who is closer to the damage than the others, trying to peer over the edge. "Don't let it touch you. You do _not_ want to see what that will do to your skin." He then turns to address the catbus. "Go back to the city. It won't follow you there. 

The catbus regards him with an unimpressed stare. It yowls, then turns and leaps into the treetops, clearing the gulf and disappearing. 

"Whatever, get eaten." Sleep mutters. 

A bellowing roar splits the distant night, almost in reply. Near the mountains, the trees start shaking and then launching into the air. The ground begins to shudder with the impact of gargantuan footsteps. 

Thomas can feel the vibrations, each pounding thunk shakes up his spine. They're getting faster as they get closer. The hairs raise on the back of his neck. "What is that!?" His hands are shaking and he wants to drop to the ground and curl into a ball. Being awake is starting to feel more and more like his nightmares. 

"I'll tell you later." Sleep digs in his messenger bag, and casts a handful of shimmering dust into the air. It resolves itself into a largish version of Carpet from Aladdin. Thomas gawks at it incredulously. Sleep sighs. "Look no one ever said you were always an original child. Now _get on the carpet!"_

< For just a moment he considers refusing. The echoing roar that follows tells him now is not the time. "C'mon guys." 

It's a tight squeeze. Thomas once again finds himself boxed into the middle, Patton very nearly in his lap. The carpet seems to struggle a little to lift them all. A few feet off the ground it lurches uncertainly. Logan makes a small discontent noise next to him. 

Virgil is pressed so tight against his back that Thomas can feel the tension thrumming through him. "What's the hold up here?" He grits out. 

Sleep mutters a curse and thumps at the front of the carpet. "Come _on_ you stupid piece of- _do your damn job!"_

With a sudden jerk, they shoot at least fifty feet into the air, heading deeper towards the forest. 

On his other side Janus yelps and wobbles. Heart in his throat Thomas flings an arm out to pull him closer. Patton and Logan both whimper a little, and Virgil's grip on his shirt is almost tight enough to choke him. 

Behind and below them the bellowing of whatever the hell that thing is becomes an outraged shriek. It's clearly reached the road to find it's quarry vanished. 

Thomas closes his eyes and starts to pray 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for skipping last week, I landed myself in the ER and it took me a while to get back into my routine. I'm fine lol, just bad at disruptions. This is the longest chapter so far, I hope that makes up for it.  
> Unfortunately it may be another two weeks before the next chapter while I focus on finishing the thomceit week prompts for the end of this month.
> 
> Catbus is from My Neighbor Totoro.  
> The song Remus sings is "The Two Sisters". Lorena Mckennit has a version if you want to listen.  
> Carpet is obvs from D*sney's Aladdin.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas gets some answers, that breed new questions and bring secrets to light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for being patient. I should be able to get back to weekly updates.

They're in the air for an hour, maybe longer, before they land. The sun is just starting to creep towards the horizon. They set down in a small clearing surrounded by heavy woods that chokes out the light until it's dim and grey. As soon as they all stumble off of it the carpet dissolves back into dust.

Logan wobbles to the edge of the clearing, and a minute later retching noises filter back to Thomas. Janus also looks green around the mouth. Virgil is clutching the strap of his pack in a death grip and staring wide eyed at nothing. Patton has his arms wrapped around himself and he's shivering. 

Sleep is rummaging around in Logan's dropped bag. He fishes out the instant coffee and grimaces. "Really? You couldn't even bring the good stuff?"

Thomas is very suddenly angrier than he's been in days. Forcing his voice even despite the wobbling in his legs, he bites out, "What do you think you're doing?" He has about a million questions, and he's done scrambling around without answers.

Sleep eyes him over the top of his shades. "Collecting my reward for saving your ungrateful asses, what does it look like?"

"Oh, fuck you-" Virgil starts, at the same time as Thomas scoffs.

"Excuse me? I barely know who you are, I have no idea what's going on. I've been on the run since we stepped out the door and I don't know where these things are coming from, why we're getting attacked, or what the hell _you_ have do with any of it! What exactly am I supposed to be grateful for?"

A brief ringing silence follows his outburst.. Sleep's eyebrows take up residence at his hairline. "If you're gonna be a little bitch about it, I could just leave you here."

"Language." Patton chides weakly. "Remy, it's not that we don't appreciate the help…"

"You'll have to forgive us if we're a little shaken." Logan picks up, rejoining the group. He snags his thermos and chugs several gulps. "It's been a difficult few days."

Janus sighs. "Logan, you have a true gift for understatement. It seems introductions are necessary. Remy, you know Thomas. Thomas, this is Remy, he controls your dreams... among other things."

Thomas barely manages not to roll his eyes. "Yeah, I'm aware. Hi. My concerns still stand."

Remy grins a shark grin. "Who knew you were such a charmer."

"Thomas is right though." Virgil says. "Your timing was _awfully_ convenient. Tell us what you know, sandman."

Remy turns that sharp smile in his direction. "Sweet as ever, Anxiety. Don't you know you'd catch more flies with a double mocha frappe than with vinegar?"

Logan clears his throat. He's produced another thermos, steam rising from the top. "I'm afraid this is all we have. I apologize if it's not to your gourmet standards."

"Lo, do you have to bribe him with _our_ coffee?" Virgil's voice holds a whining note. He glares at Remy like he's contemplating murder.

Remy on the other hand, beams, face softening into true happiness. "I'm just joshing you, babes. Any coffee is good coffee!" He winks at Logan, who looks a little gobsmacked. "I appreciate it, doll."

There's quiet for a moment as he takes a few sips, his entire posture exhaling into relaxation. "We should walk while we talk. Just 'cause we covered some distance, doesn't mean that thing won't catch up if we slow down." Remy gestures towards the far side of the clearing. There's a small path leading into the woods.

"I'm not going anywhere, until you tell me what the hell is going on." Thomas says flatly. There's a throbbing pain building behind his eyes, and the urge to punch something or scream is creeping ever closer. He forces deep breaths to regain his composure.

It works for half a second. Then Remy shrugs, says, "Suit yourself." and heads for the path.

Patton lays a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, kiddo. I really don't wanna stick around here too long. And he did say he'd tell us." He gives Thomas an encouraging smile.

"Fine." Thomas huffs, and stalks after Remy. When he catches up to him, he growls, "Talk." If he says more than one word at a time, he might _actually_ scream. The others trail close behind them.

"Ok, so! A few days ago, you started having nightmares, right?" Remy starts, winding his way through sparse underbrush.

"Yup."

"And I wasn't the one sending them. Which is weird, since I usually control everything about the way you sleep. At least when _some people_ let me do my job!" He raises his chin pointedly in Virgil's direction. The anxious side mutters something unintelligible in response.

"And?" Thomas prompts. He's hoping the whole conversation isn't going to be like this. He's not in the mood to pull teeth.

"I couldn't find the source, but sometimes your drama geek sides like to stick their noses into my business, so I figured that was a safe bet. I headed here to find one of them."

Thomas stumbles a little in shock, narrowly missing a tree branch to the face. "Roman? and Remus? Do you know where they are?!" His heart is clogging his throat.

Remy's mouth flattens. "No, sorry. I haven't been able to track either of them down." Thomas's heart cracks and drops back down through his ribs. Patton makes an unhappy noise behind him. "I can't pin down the source of your dreams either. I looked in all of their usual haunts, but I didn't get the chance to dig too hard. That thing showed up a couple hours after I did and it's been hot on my heels ever since."

"I thought you said it was after us!" Virgil accuses.

"It is, now." Remy snaps. "This morning it suddenly turned around and headed straight for the town. I was trying to get to you before it did, but you saved me the trouble by catching that bus."

Thomas's head is spinning as they keep walking. There's so many things happening, he doesn't really know what to ask next. If the twins aren't anywhere they'd usually go, then where is he supposed to look? Is someone really deliberately sending him those horrible nightmares? Why?

Logan, as always, cuts to the most pressing question. "Do you know exactly what it is that's following us?"

At this, Remy falters for a moment. "Roman calls it The Destroyer."

"Well that's ominous." Virgil says at the same time as Janus groans.

"How marvelously _descriptive_. But what is it?"

"It's Creativity's Shade." Patton stops, staring wide eyed. Janus sucks in a breath.

"But… but I thought the Shades had all been banished or destroyed." Patton's voice is wobbly, terrified. His eyes dart back and forth between Logan and Remy. "Logan, you said… Roman said…" He trails off, pressing a hand to his mouth. 

Janus tugs sharply at the cuffs of his sleeves, face troubled. Virgil's brows are furrowed in confusion. Logan looks pained, eyes fixed on a point somewhere over Patton's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Patton. I'm afraid we… I'm afraid _I_ haven't been entirely honest with you."

A clawing terror blooms beneath Thomas's lungs. "What are you talking about? Logan, What's a Shade?"

☆☆☆

Remy insists they keep moving for a while before they can stop for the night. Logan dodges all of Thomas and Virgil's questions, saying he can't explain until he has time to collect his thoughts. Janus offers reassurances but no real information. After the third time Virgil snaps at him when Thomas wants to do the same, they stop asking.

Remy fills them in on all the places he's checked for the twins instead, while Thomas records them in a notebook he found in his pack. Patton barely speaks, seemingly lost in his thoughts. Eventually they all lapse into silence.

They walk for hours.

It would be pleasant any other time. Even now Thomas has to marvel at the forest around them. It seems directly pulled from some high fantasy story. There are hundreds of different trees. Some of them are old, soaring high with wide trunks and vast branches. The canopy is so thick, it turns the fading sunlight into something cool and green. Everything feels alive, ancient, magical.

They can hear animals, although they never see any. Birdsong fills the fragrant air. The underbrush is thin, mostly consisting of berry bushes and small saplings and the odd tangle of bramble. The ground is carpeted with nearly a foot of leaf matter. At the side of the path the soil is dark and loamy.

There are some unsettling things as well. Random trees and bushes are decaying where they stand, rotting fruit hanging from them, or covered in a seeping dark fungal growth. Every so often the woods will go completely still around them, until broken by distant mournful howls. Once, they pass a perfect circle of bare earth with a deer skeleton in the exact center. It's pristine and pale white, not a shred of flesh remains. Looking at it makes a shiver crawl down Thomas's neck. Virgil doesn't look too much happier about any of it.

It gets darker and colder as they go. Eventually Remy pulls an entire walking staff from his satchel, with a lantern at the top. It puts off enough light to see, but does nothing to disguise the gleam of eyes watching them from far off the path. Or the ghostly glow that shimmers through the distant trees. Remy tells them not to worry, it's 'just the mushrooms'. Somehow that's not at all comforting.

Through it all Thomas pushes down at the panic trying to rear its head. There's a crushing awareness that something is horribly wrong hovering just at the edge of his thoughts. They're not moving fast enough. They're careening too quickly into the unknown. Parts of him are missing, a deep and aching bad _badwrongawful_ void at the center of him. But at the same time, there's a terror that grips him at the thought of actually finding what they're after. When they find Roman and Remus, _if_ they find them, what then? What shape will they be in? Do they even want to be found? Will finding them make any difference at all?

He's lost in these thoughts when Remy finally calls a halt. They're in another clearing, larger than the first, and bracketed by thick brambles. There are rough hewn stone pillars between each of the trees that make up the edges. In the darkness Thomas can just make out something that looks like writing or hieroglyphics etched into their surfaces. "We should be safe enough here." Remy announces cheerfully. "We can even have a fire if the wood is dry enough not to smoke too much."

Thomas is pulled into a flurry of activity. Janus helps Remy clear a circle of debris and line it with handfuls of rocks from the edges of the clearing. Logan directs him where to find firewood and tinder that is dry enough to burn. Patton and Virgil venture back down the path and return dragging a couple of logs. They're not large enough to sit on, but along with the packs they make decent backrests.

Soom there's a small fire crackling merrily. With a camp kettle nestled in the embers to heat water. They set up around it passing out snacks. Thomas rummages through his pack, grateful for the sweater, and finds more of the granola bars from earlier. He gnaws at one, because he knows he should eat, and because one of the sides _will_ lecture him if he doesn't.

"Ok, Logan." He says, gentle but firm, once they've settled in. "Times up. I need you to tell me what's going on."

Logan takes a deep breath, staring pensively into the fire. "When you were very young, and we were just beginning to form as facets of your personality, the potential for what we would become; for who you would become; was nearly limitless." He begins. "We were much less...stable than we are now, always fluctuating in form and function." 

"So you didn't always look like me?" Thomas clarifies. "And you acted differently?" The concept is strange, but it does make sense. 

"Correct. As you grew, we solidified, and began to shed parts of ourselves that were not in keeping with who you were becoming. Parts of ourselves that you didn't or couldn't identify with." A shadow passes over Logan's face. Beside him, Patton is silent and tense. "Some of these parts coalesced and became entities of their own."

Now that throws Thomas for a loop. It doesn't sound quite like what he knows about how the sides work. Unless..."Like Remus?"

"Not exactly." Janus frowns, he seems to be searching for the words he wants. "The creative impulses that Remus embodies are still recognizable as part of you." He hesitates. "Your… rejection… of him was inspired by outside forces and not natural growth. He can still influence and inspire you, and vice versa."

Logan picks the thread back up. "These entities were made up of things that were entirely alien to the person you were becoming. They had very little influence, but could still cause stress to your mental processes." He pauses again, as if bracing for something unpleasant. "We called them Shades. Creativity's was actually the first to form, even before the split happened." His eyes are unfocused, looking inward towards something in the distant past. "No one else ever saw it, he fought it off by himself."

On the other side of Patton, Virgil makes a hesitant sound. "Do I, um, do I have one? A Shade?" Then in a smaller voice. "Why don't I remember any of this?"

When Janus answers, the look on his face is indecipherable. "You do. You stayed in flux longer than the rest of us, and your Shade formed almost as soon as you did. In essence, you're too young to remember it." He regards Virgil with a small, sad half smile.

Logan nods. "That's a good way to conceptualize it. Also, your Shade was fairly weak, easily banished. As for Janus's, and my own and… well we knew what we were doing by then. But Patton's was the second, and he was very strong..." He trails off into silence.

It weighs heavy in the air around them, before Patton speaks, voice distant. "He called himself Hatred. But he was so much more than that. Rage, and violence. Cold uncaring cruelty." He turns suddenly to Thomas, eyes blazing. "It's why I've always been so adamant that you _are_ a good person, Thomas. Because you kept what I became, and you turned your back on the worst of human nature."

Thomas doesn't know what to say to that. He's almost certain Patton is wrong about him, but now doesn't seem the time to say so. Instead he squeezes Patton's hand, offering comfort he doesn't feel. Patton lapses back into sullen silence.

Logan won't look at any of them. "Ousting him took a great deal of effort. You were in a lot of turmoil at the time. This was when you were ten or eleven, fifth grade." 

Fifth grade had been a nightmare. He was aware by that time that something was different about him, and trying desperately to pretend otherwise. And then there had been the kid that seemed to hone in on all of his 'flaws'. Who used them to make his life miserable..."Jason."

"Yes." Logan gives a brief nod. "And you were beginning puberty, and Virgil was showing signs of being Anxiety rather than simply caution and survival. Hatred had deeper roots than any of the other Shades." He pauses, grimaces like the memory pains him. "It was not a peaceful process."

"And while he had very little _direct_ influence over you, he could and did torment Patton mercilessly …It wasn't pretty." Janus says, voice heavy with emotions Thomas can't parse.

Patton shudders beside him, breath hitching "But you said you banished them, Logan. You and Roman both swore they were gone into the subconscious forever." His voice wobbles on the verge of tears, accusatory.. "How could you tell me that when he was still out there?"

"We tried, Patton." Logan finally meets his eyes. His voice is more distressed than Thomas has _ever_ heard it. "You have to believe that. We tried everything we could think of to get rid of them, but every time the twins fought them past the boundaries they'd re-emerge days or even hours later." He clenches his hands helplessly. "There was no getting rid of them. I couldn't figure out why until much later, and actually it was Janus who finally pieced it together." 

Janus swallows. There's no pride of accomplishment on his face. "Even though these things; cruelty, apathy, willful ignorance, violence; were not a part of who you were becoming, you still had to have a concept of them. Had to be able to imagine them as a part of _someone_. Otherwise how could you recognize them in others and protect yourself from their influence." 

"So they were allowed to reside here, in the imagination, with Roman and Remus to keep them contained if they got out of line. And they haven't strayed too close to you since." Logan says, voice terribly heavy.

"But why did you lie to me?" Patton all but sobs. Thomas can feel the anger and fear radiating off of him in waves.

Logan closes his eyes tight. "You were so frightened of Hatred, and Roman was so certain he could keep them away from the rest of us." His voice breaks. "We wanted you to feel safe."

Patton says nothing. Tears drip silently down his face.

Thomas is hesitant to break the tense silence, but… "What do we do? If it catches up with us?"

"We fight it, of course." Virgil looks at Logan for approval. "You said you've fought these things before…"

Logan shakes his head. "Not this one."

Janus's brows draw together. "Remus would never let me near it. He seemed almost afraid of it." And if that isn't the most terrifying concept Thomas has ever heard. Remus doesn't strike him as the type to fear anything.

Logan's face is bleak. "And we don't have nearly the same power either of the twins do."

Remy scoffs at that. "What the hell are you talking about? You should. Or at least _he_ should." He gestures at Thomas.

"Me?" There's really no one else he could mean, but the very idea that he has anything like Roman's abilities is… unfathomable.

Remy gives him an incredulous look. "Duh! Babes, is or isn't this _your_ imagination?"

Thomas blinks. "I mean yeah, but, I can't do the things they do here."

"Have you ever even tried?" Remy deadpans.

Of course he's never tried. Why would he, when he's always had Roman to do the heavy lifting. "...no. But I wouldn't even know how!" He protests.

"I'm surrounded by idiots." Remy rolls his eyes.

Virgil growls at him. "Hey! Give him a break!"

Remy ignores him. He takes a deep breath and fixes Thomas with an intense look over his sunglasses. "Try something simple. Create something."

"Like what?"

"Anything!" He's clearly irritated. "It doesn't matter, just imagine it in your hands as clearly as you can."

Thomas closes his eyes. He doesn't know if this is the right thing to do, but it _feels_ like it should work. He's attempting what amounts to magic. He concentrates, pictures an apple, the first thing that comes to mind. He tries to imagine what it should look like, tries to imagine what it would feel like in his hand. There's a sudden weight and form where there was nothing before.

His eyes fly open. It's...definitely an apple, sort of. It doesn't look quite right. Its peel shifts wildly between red, peach, and green. There's an odd lump where the stem should be. He stares, entranced.

It doesn't smell like anything when he brings it up to his face to take a tentative bite. It tastes like a weird amalgamation of every apple he's ever eaten, but mushy and overripe. There's no doubt it's not perfect. But it is an apple, where there wasn't one before.

"See, there." Remy tells him, voice smug. "Now you just need to practice."

Virgil looks a little impressed, despite himself, but he still snorts. "OK, genius, but how does an apple help us fight that thing following us?"

Logan frowns. "It doesn't. But if Thomas can create an apple, he can create a weapon, or a distraction as well."

The idea of creating a weapon, something designed to _kill_ , sinks like a stone in his stomach. "I'm not so sure about that."

"Here." Remy pulls a worryingly huge dagger from his boot. "Try to make one of these. Match the details as best as you can."

Thomas studies it. The wooden handle, utilitarian and plain. The full tang and leaf shaped blade with its twisted and rippling surface. His mind supplies the phrase _damascus steel_ but he's not sure why. Then he closes his eyes again. This time, when he feels the weight the object in his hand is much more true to form. 

He has to stop himself from flinging it away like it burns. It's sharp, and very clearly deadly.

"Trés bien." Remy's voice is pleased. "And if he can do it. The rest of you should be able to as well."

There are noises of disbelief all around. But one by one the sides each make the attempt. And one by one, they produce a dagger each. All except Patton, who hunches by the fire, silent and looking just as nauseous as Thomas feels. Logan keeps casting glances at him, but refrains from saying anything.

Remy claps his hands once, as the others stow their brand new daggers. "With practice, you should be able to create anything. We'll work on it as we walk tomorrow. Let's get some shut eye."

There are uneasy looks all around. No one brought tents or sleeping bags, and this place still feels _very_ exposed to Thomas, but he supposes they'll need to try. It's not as if they can keep walking all night. Virgil makes himself comfortable right where he's been sitting, curling up in his hoodie with his head on his pack.

The others do their best, save Logan, who sits staring into the fire. And Remy who gets up, starting towards the entrance of the clearing.

"Aren't you sleeping?" Thomas calls after him?

"Me? I never sleep. Besides, someone needs to keep the nightmares away." Thomas isn't sure if he means figuratively or literally, and he's still not sure that he fully trusts him. But still, it's comforting to know someone will be keeping watch.

Thomas turns to Patton, who's curled up in a miserable little ball near Virgil. He looks like he needs a hug, and Thomas definitely needs one. So he gently tugs Patton into his arms as he settles. He tries what Patton has done for him. Humming and stroking his hands softly through his hair and down his back. He finds it soothes him more than it seems to soothe Patton, but he keeps trying.

It takes a long, long time for Patton to relax even a fraction. But no one can hold themselves so tense forever. Eventually Patton uncurls with a heavy sigh. After that it doesn't take long for him to be snoring into Thomas's collar. Thomas follows him into dreamless sleep soon after 

He wakes up to Roman standing over him, sword unsheathed, and face a storm.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this for months and its not finished but I really wanted to start posting before the next episode dropped. Updates might be slow but they are coming, so bear with me 😅


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